i remember how the dust moved
it never settles while i watch
like the kettle never boils
like the future is uncertain
but
the dust it still collects
on every surface we neglect and i
am wondering of us
if it's the same, if it is different

try to find a way outside
try to find "away from here",
try to find a way, to this day your name stil hurts my
tongue but i will say it
i carved your face into
the back of my eyes, now i can't find sleep

i'm so angry so often
how long am i allowed
to keep dwelling on the past before
i need to come around
i know
i need to come around

i fell in love with a river
that never stopped moving
whether closer of further away

i've spent months without even
so much as a sip
how i've longed sleepless nights, lonely days

but just as the water
seems out of my reach
she simply returns on a whim

i can't say i'm sorry
when telling the story
of loving her over again

the eagle took up to the skies
and with a single motion
a man ablaze
a singing praise
it dove into the ocean

the salmon run was in full bloom
but spring was fraught with blight
beggars can't
be choosers so
they devoured all in sight

a crowd of kin consumed the bridge
where a boy did meet his maker
the current sped
and in it's stead
an empty handed undertaker

when i bite to break skin
i am hungry for more than flesh

my heart is a hotel
not like a hotel
but an actual ******* hotel
most people come and go so fast i can barely catch a name

the front desk is always cautious about those short visits. there is a bed and breakfast not far from here that might be closer to what you’re looking for
and yelp seems to be in his favor

my heart is a hotel that was built too fast
for how new it is, it should be in better condition
the stairs are old and rickety, the farther in you go the less chance you have of making it back out
so i try to offer the shallowest of rooms that I can
the penthouse is vacant, but i can’t bring myself to fill it

my heart is a hotel
if you leave your secrets behind, the cleaning lady will find them it’s not my business to tell you how to make your bed, but leave a tip to the ones who have to wash your sheets
she has no use for money
just make sure she knows you appreciate her cleaning up a mess that wasn’t hers

my heart is a hotel where
the staff are quiet machines
they keep to themselves until spoken to, but when engaged they tend to let out a few secrets
lately they enjoy spreading word about bodies hidden in the walls
i’m not saying there are or are not bodies in the walls
all im saying is can you please stop picking at the wallpaper

my heart is a hotel
and
the guestbook has seen better days
the guestbook has seen worse days
the guestbook lay open to the last words written; clearly legible for any passerby to take note of
“charming and cozy, but a few too many skeletons for our liking.”
“may not visit again, but would recommend to a friend in the area”
“the morning coffee is my favorite shade of motor oil bitter”

my heart is a hotel
i spend my time in the bar